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Antony and Cleopatra Scenes

Scene 12

Another part of the field of battle between the camps.

(Antony; Scarus; Cleopatra)

Antony witnesses his fleet yielding to the foe and realizes that he is done for. Convinced that Cleopatra has betrayed him, he swears to kill her. (53 lines)

Enter Antony and Scarus.


Yet they are not join’d. Where yond pine does stand

I shall discover all; I’ll bring thee word

Straight how ’tis like to go.


Alarum afar off, as at a sea-fight.


Swallows have built

In Cleopatra’s sails their nests. The auguries

Say they know not, they cannot tell, look grimly,

And dare not speak their knowledge. Antony

Is valiant, and dejected, and by starts

His fretted fortunes give him hope and fear

Of what he has, and has not.

Enter Antony.


All is lost!

This foul Egyptian hath betrayed me.

My fleet hath yielded to the foe, and yonder

They cast their caps up and carouse together

Like friends long lost. Triple-turn’d whore! ’Tis thou

Hast sold me to this novice, and my heart

Makes only wars on thee. Bid them all fly;

For when I am reveng’d upon my charm,

I have done all. Bid them all fly, be gone.

Exit Scarus.

O sun, thy uprise shall I see no more,

Fortune and Antony part here, even here

Do we shake hands. All come to this? The hearts

That spannell’d me at heels, to whom I gave

Their wishes, do discandy, melt their sweets

On blossoming Caesar; and this pine is bark’d,

That overtopp’d them all. Betray’d I am.

O this false soul of Egypt! This grave charm,

Whose eye beck’d forth my wars and call’d them home,

Whose bosom was my crownet, my chief end,

Like a right gypsy, hath at fast and loose

Beguil’d me to the very heart of loss.

What, Eros, Eros!

Enter Cleopatra.

Ah, thou spell! Avaunt!


Why is my lord enrag’d against his love?


Vanish, or I shall give thee thy deserving,

And blemish Caesar’s triumph. Let him take thee

And hoist thee up to the shouting plebeians!

Follow his chariot, like the greatest spot

Of all thy sex; most monster-like, be shown

For poor’st diminutives, for dolts, and let

Patient Octavia plough thy visage up

With her prepared nails.

Exit Cleopatra.

’Tis well th’ art gone,

If it be well to live; but better ’twere

Thou fell’st into my fury, for one death

Might have prevented many. Eros, ho!

The shirt of Nessus is upon me; teach me,

Alcides, thou mine ancestor, thy rage.

Let me lodge Lichas on the horns o’ th’ moon,

And with those hands, that grasp’d the heaviest club,

Subdue my worthiest self. The witch shall die.

To the young Roman boy she hath sold me, and I fall

Under this plot. She dies for’t. Eros, ho!



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